


Seven Hours

by HollyeLeigh



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Deleted Scenes, F/M, Once Upon a Captain Swan Storybook, Road Trips, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-09 02:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12266943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/pseuds/HollyeLeigh
Summary: Missing scene from episode 3x12 New York City Serenade (dipping a teeny bit into 3x13). Emma, Killian (Hook), and Henry share a seven hour (well, probably more like nine with stops) drive from NYC to Storybrooke. Line breaks indicate a change in POV.





	Seven Hours

**Author's Note:**

> This was my submission for the 2017 CS Storybook - Vol. 2. Mad thanks to @madjm on Tumblr who created a stunning piece of art to accompany it. Go visit us (I'm @hollyethecurious) on Tumblr to check it out.

 

* * *

 

Seven hours.

Seven hours in her car.

Seven hours in her car… with Captain Hook.

Captain -  _ freaking _ \- Hook.

The man who turned his ship around.

The man who aided her in rescuing Henry.

The man who took her breath away with his kiss, who promised to win her heart, and who vowed to not go a day without thinking of her.

Yeah, that Captain Hook.

Seven hours (okay, probably more like nine with bathroom and food stops) in a car with her son and Captain Hook.

The man who had first tried to get her to remember him, not with the memory potion, but a kiss.

A certain  _ kind _ of kiss.

A certain kind of kiss that legend says has the power to break any curse.

But it hadn’t worked.

_ Of course, it hadn’t worked, _ Emma scoffed.

**_Yeah, well, True Love’s Kiss didn’t work for David either when Snow had forgotten him, but that didn’t mean they weren’t True Love,_** her treacherous mind reminded her.

_ Shut up, _ she snapped at that part of her brain. The part that sounded infuriatingly like Mary Margar… uh, Snow Whi… uh, her mom (how is this her life?).

The part of her brain where hope and belief for a bright shiny future with a bright shiny love lived.

The part that had too much freedom over the past year during her blissful ignorance.

The part that had let  _ him _ in.

The flying monkey.

Clearly, that part of her brain couldn’t be trusted.

* * *

 

 

She said it would take about seven hours.

Seven hours to travel from the bustling metropolis to the cursed hamlet.

Seven hours in the motorized, yellow carriage of which he was more than a little dubious.

The _ Jolly Roger  _ would have been faster, but that was not an option to them. More’s the pity.

How would they have explained it to Henry, anyway?

She’d reminded him to be careful with his words around the lad. To not say, or do anything that would arouse suspicion.

As if his very presence didn’t already do exactly that.

He wished he’d been able to procure another bottle of memory potion, but there hadn’t been the time or the means. He was tempted to suggest that Emma try a True Love’s Kiss on the lad in an effort to restore his memories, but doing so, he feared, would call attention to the fact that he had tried doing just that with Emma.

_ What the bloody hell was I thinking? _

**_That you haven’t gone a day without thinking of her, that the last year had been miserable without her, and that perhaps her year had been just as torturous and she would, on some level, feel the same for you as you do about her,_** his mind reminded him… unhelpfully.

_ Yeah, well, it didn’t bloody work, did it? _

**_Because of the memory wipe, mate._ ** His mind treacherously interjected once again.  **_You did the research. You knew it was a long shot._ **

He  _ had _ done the research.

Unable to procure another means of giving both Emma and her son their memories back, Killian had looked into other methods besides potions.

Alas, what he’d discovered about the power and effectiveness of True Love’s Kiss left him dubious as to its success even  _ if _ Swan felt the same.

For one, most practitioners believed that in order for it to work both parties would have to know (remember) each other. Secondly, both parties had to want their particular curse broken.

Emma hadn’t remembered him, and she hadn’t been unhappy enough to wish for another life.

Or, she didn’t love him, and he was a fool for thinking she ever could.

* * *

 

Hook helped secure the rest of their things in the vessel’s hold and then begrudgingly slid into the front seat of the yellow contraption. Keeping a watchful eye, he mimicked Swan’s movement of draping the heavy fabric strap across his chest and lap and secured it into the buckle, marveling at the locking system and wishing to take a closer look at how the mechanism worked.

There were many things about this realm that intrigued him (the blonde beauty to his left at the top of that list), but with Henry’s lack of memory regarding the truth of Fairy Tales, magic, and his rather complicated family tree, Hook knew he’d have to wait before he could inquire on the great many things which vexed him about this land.

Each of them seemed to be wrapped in their own thoughts as they made their way out of the city. Henry had said he needed to send a number of ‘texts’ to his friends letting them know he’d be gone a few days, and Swan concentrated on navigating them through the complex routes and traffic in order to finally get them to the ‘interstate’.

He watched as she effortlessly worked the wheel, as her feet did a complicated dance along the pedals on the floor and her hand reached over from time to time to reposition the shaft jutting up between them. The whole process appeared extremely complicated to him, and he was attempting to break down her actions in an effort to equate them with the workings of steering a ship when Henry finally spoke up from behind him.

“So, Killian how do you know my mom?”

Killian had been expecting this. As adversarial as his relationship with the Lost Boys might have been, he’d still managed to engage with a few of them enough to know that their levels of curiosity and need to question everything was part and parcel to their nature. Henry was no different, and Hook knew that he assuredly made for an intriguing subject in the eyes of the lad. His leather clad appearance notwithstanding, Hook wondered how much of Henry’s curiosity had to do with any knowledge he had about ‘the monkey’s’ proposal and Emma’s refusal.

What must Henry be thinking to have this new, strange man accompanying them to places unknown immediately after his mother had ended her relationship with the man he’d come to know over so many months? Was he upset by the other man’s absence? Would he be churlish at Hook’s presence?

“Your mother and I are old acquaintances, lad,” he answered, attempting to keep his response vague per Swan’s request.  

“Well, how did you meet?” the lad persisted.

“We met on a case.” Swan interjected as she shot Hook a hesitant half smile that had his heart swelling a touch. “We were on opposing sides, going after the same… piece of evidence.”

“Aye,” Hook affirmed with a smirk.

“So, you’re in bail bonds, too?”

Though Hook had a vague idea of how Emma’s occupation worked, he lacked enough details to confidently believe he could carry off such a pretence in the long term and chose to stick with something closer to the truth.

“Actually, I’m a sailor by trade. Spent most of my life at sea rather than on shore.”

“Awesome!” Henry lit up excitedly. “You must have some cool stories to tell.  _ Deadliest Catch _ or _ Wicked Tuna  _ kind of drama, huh?”

His confusion and slight panic of having absolutely no reference by which to base the lad’s words upon must have been apparent to Emma as she stepped in to answer on his behalf.

“Killian’s not a fisherman, Henry. He’s more... import/export,” she offered as she shot Hook a reassuring look that had him breathing easier once more, even as it hitched slightly at her continued use of his given name - one of the only benefits Henry’s memory issue was affording him.

“So you’ve traveled alot?”

“Aye, I’ve sailed to many a realm,” he answered without thought of his word choice, earning him a startled, side-eyed looked from Swan.

“Realm?”

“He means places, Henry,” Emma corrected quickly. “Killian just has an extensive vocabulary, and likes to show off.”

“Aye, apologies,” he replied with chagrin over his unintentional faux pas.

“No, its cool. I like the way you talk. Where in the UK are you from?”

And on it went…

Question after mind-numbing and problematically fraught question until Swan told Henry he could spend some time on his ‘Game Boy’ - whatever the blazes that was.

Low sounds of some sort of melody, along with occasional noises of a rather irritating nature drifted forward from the back seat as Emma sought Hook’s eye in order to offer up an spoken apology for all of the lad’s inquiries. He waved her off with a smile of his own, no one could blame the boy for being curious.

Henry’s questions had sparked another round of Hook’s own ponderings, though, and he was once more extremely intrigued by the wonders that flew past his window as they traveled. Too many subjects of interest possessed him, and he feared he’d never remember them all when the time came that he could investigate them further so he thought it best to jot down a few notes for reminding.

“Henry, lad? Would you happen to have some parchment and a writing utensil in that satchel of yours?”

“No, but I have some paper and a pen in my backpack,” he quipped back with a roll of his eyes.

_ So like his mother, the cheeky little bugger. _

Hook glared good naturally at the lad as a coil-bound bundle of parchment… er, paper was handed over, along with a pen. Thanking him, Hook turned and situated himself. Opening the notebook to the first clean page, Hook attempted to write out a few thoughts, but the pen supplied no ink to the page.      

He knew that this realm did not require a separate well to supply ink to a writing instrument, and was turning the utensil over in hands to try and peer down the barrel when Swan’s hand appeared and depressed the end of the pen. With a sharp click the inked end appeared and Hook mimicked Swan’s action several times, once again marveling at the wonders of this land.

Shooting her a grateful smile before resuming his task, Hook spent the next few hours making notes and observations within the notebook Henry had provided. With only a few more rounds of curiosity ladened questions from the lad breaking through the pirate’s musings.

* * *

 

_ Several hours later... _

Even with their limited ability to converse openly in front of Henry, Emma had learned several intriguing things about Hook and her interest had been piqued about a number of others in the course of their journey (and most especially during their lunch stop).

For instance, he had been vehemently opposed to eating lunch at Long John Silvers and seemed rather disturbed that it was one of Henry’s favorites. He’d finally given in to the idea once he learned that Henry rarely got a chance to eat there because there weren’t any close to where they lived, and it was a treat he only got on road trips. Hook had been tense all during the meal, and it wasn’t until Henry had made a reference to  _ Treasure Island _ that Emma started to understand.

_ Captain Silver, too? Seriously?  _

She sensed there was a story to be told about the nature of Hook’s relationship with the other literarily famous Captain, but it wasn’t the time to ask. Not with Henry listening in.

One of the more amusing things she learned over lunch (just as he came to realize it for himself) was Hook’s utter distaste of soda, if the repulsed look that had crossed his face after the first sip of Coca Cola was any indication. He’d managed to finish the ‘all too saccharine beverage’, once (while Henry was in the restroom) she poured a liberal amount of rum from his flask into the paper cup, despite his initial protest that it was another bloody waste of rum at her hand. She told him to go easy, but he didn’t listen. Needless to say he was much more relaxed leaving Long John Silvers than he’d been upon entering.

The best thing from their lunchtime pit stop, however, (though she’d never admit to it outside that moment) was when she witnessed the adorableness that was the fearsome Captain Hook teaching himself to blow bubbles with the gum Henry offered him when they’d gotten back into the car, even if the constant smacking as they headed down the road was only slightly less irritating than the clicky pen.

_ Ugh… the clicky pen… _

It still made her giggle a bit, the boyish look of glee that had captured his expression when she’d demonstrated how the pen worked, and the subsequent clicks that followed as he worked out it’s usage for himself. The endearing quality didn’t last, however, when after an hour or so the incessant clicking while he pondered who-knows-what finally struck her last nerve. She’d reached over and grabbed at his left hand (his wooden hand) and told him to stop or she’d kill him.

At first she thought his shocked expression was from her death threat over the annoyance of the clicky pen, but then his gaze had flickered down to her hand grasping onto his substitute appendage. He swallowed, eyes wide with an uncertainty she didn’t understand in the moment, and after his eyes searched hers for something that he apparently didn’t find (and seemed a bit relieved by its absence) he cleared his throat with an apology before going back to his scribbles.

Well, not really scribbles. She didn’t think it was fair to classify his penmanship as scribbles. More like a calligrapher’s wet dream, and something that piqued her curiosity once again.

The penmanship, that is.

Definitely not Hook and references to wet dreams.

Nope. Not at all.

_ Damn suggestive billboards! _

Her interest in what it was he’d been writing fully developed when they’d passed an advertisement of a suggestive nature just outside of the city. She’d heard his chuckle and then felt a blush creep across her cheeks when she saw it. Most of the time she probably wouldn’t have noticed, but his attention and patented wink, smirk, and brow that he shot her in response to the provocative signage had her feeling flushed at the bawdy subtext.

Hook gave a quick glance over his shoulder to gauge Henry’s attention level, and deciding that it was probably not appropriate to apply whatever innuendo was dancing on the tip of his tongue in that moment, turned and began to write something into the notebook. All the while giving her a ‘ _ oh, we are so going to discuss this later, Swan _ ’ look, as she desperately tried to keep her face neutral and her thoughts of him in the rating of G, or PG...or PG-13 at least.

Marketing euphemisms aside, there seemed to be quite a bit that Hook took interest in as the hours and scenery passed. Each change of landscape, new town they’d pass, or round of Henry’s snooping would bring on more scratches of his pen, and yes, a few rapid fire clicks of the pen before he’d remember and shoot her a chagrined look. Which absolutely did not affect her in any way. At all.

She was also completely unaffected by how good Hook was with Henry.  _ Okay, so that’s a total lie, she was completely affected by it. _ Emma wasn’t too sure how well the two would get along or tolerate one another, but - as Hook had put it over lunch - they had really taken quite a shine to one another.

Their conversations had run the gamut from Henry further asking about Hook’s wardrobe to her son explaining the new level he’d just unlocked on his Game Boy. Emma was awed by the pirate’s rapt attention, she knew that Hook didn’t have a clue as to what Henry was saying, but he patiently listened through Henry’s excited commentary anyway. It wasn’t until Henry’s curiosities got a bit more personal that she started to grow concerned over how quickly the two had connected.

“Hey Killian?” Henry said hesitantly.

“Yes, lad?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing this whole bloody trip?” the pirate responded with a friendly smirk over his shoulder.

“I guess… but…”

“Just spit it out, lad.”

“How did you lose your hand?”

“Henry!” Emma admonished.

“No, it’s alright, Swan,” Hook reassured. “Natural for the boy to be curious,” and Hook turned himself to face Henry as best he could before answering. “It’s a rather sordid tale, Henry, and not one I wish to burden you with. It happened long ago, on a day when I thought I’d lost everything that held meaning to me in the world, but I’ve since come to realize that life has so much more in store for us if we are open enough to let those possibilities in.”

Emma tried to ignore his furtive glance in her direction. Tried to ignore the fluttering that had erupted around her heart and dipped down into her stomach. Tried to will away the sting she felt in the corner of her eyes. And she absolutely with all her might tried to banish the memory ‘that part of her brain’ was trying to interject into her thoughts just then.

_ I never thought I'd be capable of letting go of my first love, my Milah... to believe that I could find someone else... that is, until I met you. _

Followed up by the memory of him confirming that he was done trying to kill Rumplestiltskin after he’d turned his ship around and offered to take them to go rescue Henry. After she had told him that he could be a part of something.

For the first time since he’d shown up at her door, Emma wondered just how he had managed to get back to her from the Enchanted Forest. She’d have to remember to ask him later.

“So, are you married?”

Emma’s attention jerked back to the conversation between her son and her.... Hook.

“No.”

“Got kids?”

“Sadly, also a no,” Hook replied with a soft smile.

“So, you want kids?”

“Henry...” Emma interjected, fearing that the current line of questioning might be making Hook uncomfortable, though to her astonishment it seemed the only one that had become uneasy with that particular line of interrogation was her. Catching Hook’s eye her breath hitched at the intense look she saw as he answered.

“Aye. Perhaps, someday.”

Once the sun had gone down, the talking and note making had subsided. Another amusing meal (Hook was totally a food snob) behind them, and it wasn’t long before Henry nodded off. Emma could practically taste the tension in the air between herself and the pirate, but whether it was because of their impending entrance back into Storybrooke and the unknown, or something else, she couldn’t say (or wouldn’t admit to).

* * *

 

Her walls had gone back up. Things had become easy between the three of them during the course of the journey; the conversations, the teasing, the increased number of touches she had given him without thinking, it had all been so natural, so effortless, so… like he belonged.

It didn’t last though.

She had taken off her armor, that enticing red leather jacket, early on in the day, but the moment they’d stopped for dinner she had donned it once again. Of course, it could have been because of the chill in the air, but he knew different. She was preparing for battle. Preparing for the unknown they were about to face in Storybrooke. Preparing to re-compartmentalize her life into safe and controlled sections. Including him.

“Hook. Look,” Emma whispered as she nodded to a point on the road ahead. The Welcome to Storybrooke sign.

He was back to being Hook as well, it seemed. Another wall she erected back into place as Henry slept peacefully and they made their way over the town line. Frustrating as it was to always feel that for every bit of forward progress he made with this bloody stubborn woman she’d only push him back to an arm’s length, he knew that there was nowhere he’d rather be than by her side, and if she needed him to be Captain Hook, then Captain Hook he would be.

He would play the role she needed him to, so once they’d disembarked from ‘the bug’ he secured his namesake back into place once more and eased back into their all too familiar rapport. Savior and pirate. Gone was the comfort and ease of Emma and Killian, they were Swan and Hook once more.

It wasn’t until after the impromptu war counsel in the downstairs parlor of the boarding house that Hook allowed his hopes in his pursuit of the Lady Swan to soar once more. Saying goodnight to the Prince and Princess, he and Emma had headed back up the stairs towards their respective rooms when Emma caught hold of his hook and his attention.

“Hook, wait.”

“Yes, Swan? Something you need? A nightcap in my room, perhaps?” His brows and smirk selling the lascivious intent that was only somewhat teasing.  _ Oh, what he wouldn’t give. _

“Uh, no,” she replied with the expected eye roll before her expression softened slightly, taking him aback.

“I wanted to thank you, Killian,” she said as she gazed at her feet, missing the look of longing upon his face at her use of his given name when she didn’t have to.

“For what, Swan?” he asked softly.

“My memories,” she stated, meeting his eyes and raised brow at the unexpected show of gratitude. “I know. I know I didn’t seem too happy about it back in New York, but now that I’m here, seeing my parents, spending time with… everyone,” and her eyes seemed to linger on him, causing the hope to swell in him that he might be counted among, if not at the top of the list of, those she was happy to have back in her life once more.

“I wasn’t capable of missing everyone this past year, but that doesn’t mean their absence didn’t affect me,” she continued. “I wish I… I wish I had been able to miss everyone. I know it sounds weird, but now that I have my memories back, I realize just how much I  _ would _ have. So… thank you.

“You’re quite welcome, love.”

They stood in the hallway for a long moment before she gave him a soft smile and headed towards the room she was sharing with her boy. As Hook watched her close the door, and heard the latch fasten behind her, he was heartened by the feeling that for once, after a moment of exposing an emotional piece of herself, he didn’t feel like she’d shut him out.

He had spent the entire year longing for her. Spent the entire day getting to know her and the lad in a new and deeper way. In a way that made him feel like he was truly a part of something. A feeling that had him rethinking his earlier conclusions.

Perhaps, it had just been her lack of memory of him after all...


End file.
